Lone Wolf
by AnyaTheLighthouse
Summary: The Pillar of Autumn has been saved. Reach has fallen. Now, Noble Six must face his fate.


Lone Wolf

Six was bred a soldier, born a soldier, and raised a soldier. Now, it was his time to die a solider.

He stood on the edge of the platform and basked in what would have been a beautiful sight. The setting sun created a warm, red-orange haze on the horizon, painting the clouds in crimson streaks. The canyons were bare, massive formations of rock and sediment, a testament to the wear that even water can do, if given enough time.

Perhaps he might have appreciated it, but there was no room for that in his life. Instead, he watched the pelican fly away, to the _Pillar of Autumn_. His one ticket off this planet, was now gone. At least, it would be. Now, this planet: Reach, dark and alien, would be his grave.

But he'd die a soldier.

* * *

Things were bad. At least, things might have been bad, if it mattered. But no help was arriving. The _Pillar of Autumn_ had left weeks ago. Nothing but his life was at stake. No orders, no objective, he was a lone wolf, after all.

Covenant surrounded him. Shields were down, he hadn't slept a wink in a week, had nothing to eat or drink for days and was at his wits end. He could hear the sound of the suit warning him. It droned, as if to say, "The next one you take is going to hurt."

Beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep…

An elite punched him in the face, he kicked back, driving his heel into the alien's lower abdomen before unloading a clip into it. How many days had it been, how many hours?

His helmet was cracked. It had to go.

Beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep…

He took a deep breath of fresh, crisp air as he tore the helmet off, tossing it haphazardly to the side.

Footsteps behind him. Too close.

Six whipped around. Vision blurred and time slowed. A smeared mix of grey sky, brown earth and purple armor filled his sight. The arm was coming, reaching. Six was going to block it; he needed to block it.

Too late.

Beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep…

He struggled against the grip of the elite, legs flailing like those of an insect. It was getting difficult to breathe.

Beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep…

Hot plasma coursed through his insides, simultaneously boiling his blood and burning his flesh. His strength vanished, though consciousness clung stubbornly.

Six did not feel his body fall. He could not sense the crash as his body collided with the hard, dusty dirt. Six did not hear, did not taste nor smell. He could only see. He watched as the disgusting features of the alien glared at him, kicked him, and lost interest in him. He watched as it left, followed by its comrades. He watched as they disappeared over the hill.

"Spartan's don't die. They're just missing in action." Six's existence would have to be wiped from human records. Spartans don't die, and soon, Noble Six would be "missing in action". He wouldn't be a Spartan for much longer.

Not once did it occur to him that this was unfair. He did not consider himself alone. He did not see himself as abandoned. As his world faded to black, he was in no way upset or moved. Everything he had done had led to this moment. To be a soldier, is to fight.

To be a soldier, is to die.

* * *

Coughing.

As swollen eyes cracked open, lungs heaved and strained at sudden inhaling and exhaling. Six blinked. He was still alive, or maybe he wasn't. In any case, he was still in the same spot, on Reach. Dust had settled, and cool, dry air was sucked in with it.

More coughing.

As Six got up, he could feel muscles groaning and bones aching. It was a familiar feeling, but the intensity of each impulse of pain and nausea was only comparable to _that day_ , the day he gave up his humanity and became the Reaper.

In reality, it wasn't a day. It was many days of training and torture. It was the hours of the operation itself. It was the rehabilitation, followed by more training. Those days, half awake, half dead, he would be drilled and tested and tormented into disease.

But it all made him stronger. So, after much struggle and strain, Six managed his way to his feet. And he stumbled away, a shadow of the spartan he was.

* * *

Six sat under the tree, dosing between consciousness and death. Life clung stubbornly to the Spartan. Perhaps, he thought almost grimly, he really would only be missing in action.

The sky was a beautiful blue. The dirt was caked and cracked around him, like rubber left out in the sun too long. He didn't know how long he'd been walking, or where he even came from. With the exception of the trunk behind his back and the branches over his head, there was nothing but the same soil for as far as he could see.

His throat was parched, and hunger gripped at what viscera remained in his body. He did not know how he was alive. He was not even certain that he could be called alive. Was a piece of flesh, barely breathing, unable to move, alive?

Six did not know these things. He had never bothered to think about them. Now, like a lone wolf, mortally wounded, Six began to wonder…

Bright.

That was the only thought that stirred him to consciousness, to alertness.

How long had it been since he was last aware? Days? Hours? Minutes?

Bright.

Whatever it was, it was emitting a lot of light, and approaching fast. The light was getting brighter, bigger. It was so intense that it almost seemed to have weight. The white pillar of light shone everything, the sky and the ground, into a dark haze. It seemed to take forever to approach, and it seemed to take no time at all. Everything behind it glistened a pale white.

Glass.

For the first time, Six pondered the possibility of a different occupation. There were farmers, medics, doctors, engineers, business owners, cooks, artists. There were people who made others happy, there were people who made others sad. There were those that lived their whole lives in one town, one city, one planet and there were those that wandered. There were those that could trust, whom had friends and family and a home. Six did not have that.

The light was closer now. It was so bright that Six could feel its heat on the back of his eyeball. He would die soon, there was no mistake. Six did not cry. He was not trained to do that, but in his last moments, alone, under the tree, his cheeks felt wet, and he wondered why his face was leaking.

It never occurred to Six that so many of those people, from Reach and beyond, owed him their lives.

After all, he was a soldier.

 **Hey, so that's my Halo: Reach one shot. I don't know how accurate all the Spartan or other shenanagins are but hey, that's a FanFic for yah. What's the fun if you don't put a little twist in it? Reach was my favorite game so far, so if you like Halo and haven't played it… something is wrong. It's like $10 used for Xbox 360… get it!**

 **Anyway. Hope you peeps enjoyed. Review, review, review! Couldn't love you enough for it. All that good stuff.**

 **Shameless self-promotion: I have another fic, if you like Fire Emblem, feel free to check it out. If not, that's fine too** **(Also sorry for those reading it and waiting for a chapter, it'll be out soon.)**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **The Lighthouse**


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